


The Chemistry of One Plus Thirty-One

by dreaming1goalie25fics



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 16:02:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19380043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreaming1goalie25fics/pseuds/dreaming1goalie25fics
Summary: A series of Lack/Luongo one-shots. Sweet, sappy, angsty, and everything in-between.Some of these one-shots I wrote years ago and have revised since, others are just freshly written. I will be posting the one-shots over an extended period of time.Author's Note: It has been so difficult for me to learn of Lu’s retirement. These one-shots are a way for me to grieve the NHL’s loss but also to celebrate the wonderfulness that is Lu and the wonderfulness that is Lu and Eddie’s friendship. I want to wish Lu a huge congratulations for such a successful and wonderful career, and for the next opportunities and adventures that come his way. He is my all time favourite player and I have been so honoured to have followed his career from its start. I just am beyond heart-broken that I won’t see him play again, after being blessed and spoiled with 19 years of watching him between the pipes. He is humble, generous, passionate, dedicated, hilarious, classy beyond words, and the NHL is so lucky for his legacy.Disclaimer: I emphasize that these stories are works of fiction.





	The Chemistry of One Plus Thirty-One

**Silence: A One-shot**

_Playoff season 2016._

When Eddie Lack’s cell phone rang out at 11 in the evening, he knew who it was. His mentor. His role model. His best friend. His…well, his everything really.

When Eddie Lack’s cell phone rang out at 11 in the evening, he knew what the call would be about. Knew that the call wouldn’t be good.

Eddie was sprawled all long limbs and legs on his king-sized pillow-top mattress. His laptop was perched neatly amongst the blankets. The laptop screen, which shone brightly in his darkened bedroom, was turned to a news article entitled, “Luongo melts down in game one of the playoffs: is this the return of Chokeuongo?” Eddie frowned. Closed the article. Slammed the laptop screen down a little too vehemently. Reached for his phone. Answered the call.

“Hey, hey, Lui.” Eddie tried to keep his voice steady. Calm. Cheery.

Silence. There was silence on the other end.

A heavy lump formed in the back of Eddie’s throat. He swallowed.

“Lu?”

Silence.

“Bobby?”

Silence.

“Roberto?”

From across the line, there was a gulp, a strangling sound, sharp intakes of breath, a deep shudder, a groan of anger that turned into a scream of outrage, and then Roberto Luongo was sobbing into the phone.

Eddie’s frown intensified. Goosebumps burst onto his skin. He opened his mouth but found himself devoid of voice. His throat jumped with hiccups and no words would come. He closed his mouth, feeling helpless. Eddie was tall as tall could be but, in this moment, he felt very, very small. He waited. Finally:

“It--it's--a--all--m--my--fa--fault--th--that--we--lo--lost--to--tonight,” Bobby moaned out in frantic gasps.

Eddie had watched the game. It was the first playoff game Lu had played in years, and Lu had been nervous and excited because, after years of playoff failures, here was his chance to shine. Here was his chance to reclaim his rightful title as one of the best goaltenders in the league. But Lu hadn’t been his best, not even close; he hadn’t been on his game. The veteran goaltender — the two-time Olympic gold medal winning goaltender — had let in four of twenty-five shots on goal. True, there had been some defensive mistakes — but Lu had not made any of his characteristic fantastic blocks or incredible glove saves. Eddie had seen the look of fear in Lu’s eyes whenever the camera had closed in on him. That deer in the headlights look that Lu got when he was too in his head, unfocused, scared, his brain invaded with an onslaught of intrusive thoughts.

Eddie’s heart hurt. What could Eddie, a goaltender himself, say? “We all have off games.” That much was true, but you couldn’t say that of a playoff game —  that kind of statement would piss Lu off even more, because Lu of all people knew that each and every single second of a playoff game felt like being on the brink of life and death. Eddie sure as hell couldn’t say, “It’s only a game.” The truth of the matter was that it really _was_ just a game, a game that Lu made a hell of a lot of money playing, but a game all the same - it really wasn’t life and death. But to Lu it was _everything_. It was Lu’s life. Eddie knew that.

So what, then, could Eddie say? His mouth went dry, his tongue felt overlarge. He said nothing. His throat was clicking deep with hiccups again until he thought he might gag. He wanted to say, “I love you.” His frown intensified. Lu’s sobs intensified. Eddie tried to breath through his nostrils, closing his eyes, focusing on the sound of Lu.

Finally, Eddie said, “It was the first game of the series. You were nervous. You will have worked the kinks out for tomorrow’s game.”

Lu choked out, his words catching as he sucked in gasps of air, “I--I--mi-might--no--not--p--pl--play--tomorrow. Mon--Montoya--mi--might--st--start--instead--because--I--I--fucked--up--soooo--bad--”

Eddie could hear Lu shift in his own bed all those miles away in Florida, could hear the veteran goalie clutch at bed sheets, rolling them up in his big hands as he attempted to slow his breathing. God, Eddie hated this. Eddie gulped.

“You’ll get them next time. You know you will. I know you will. You’re…well, you’ve taught me everything I know. I wouldn’t be the goalie I am today if it weren’t for you--“

Lu choked out a laugh of appreciation (and, dare Eddie hope, affection?).

“My stats were pretty good this year,” Eddie added.

“You have all of the positive energy that I’ve never been able to hold onto myself come game time, and I envy that about you, kid. God knows I envy it, but -- but far more importantly, I admire it, you hear me? And -- and you need to always keep that fire because it’ll -- it’ll set you apart, kid -- it’ll set you apart from the average NHL goalie.”

Eddie wanted to say, “I love you.” But Eddie said nothing. All he could do was blush and swallow back a hiccup.

Lu’s voice was shaky, tight. He sniffled. “Are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m still here,” Eddie finally whispered. He wanted to add, “I will always be here.” He bit his tongue instead.

Lu sighed, deep and heavy. “Do you -- do you think it’s time for me to hang up the pads and call it quits?”

Eddie’s stomach jolted. “What?” he cried out. “Don’t say that. Of course not. No way. No way at all. Do -- do you _want_ to retire?”

“Christ, kid, of course I don’t want to retire. Hockey -- it’s the air I breathe. I -- I just don’t know if I still have what it takes, given my play tonight, you know?”

“I -- I didn't make the playoffs. But you _did_. You made the playoffs. That's huge, Lui,” Eddie reminded, his voice gentle. “Your stats were great this season.”

“Thanks, kid. That’s sweet,” Lu said, and Eddie could tell just from the sound of Lu’s voice that Lu’s mouth had turned up into a lopsided half-smile.

Eddie wanted to crack a joke. Something that would make the two of them laugh. He wanted to say, “I miss you.” He wanted to say, “I need you.” He wanted to say, “I would like to suck you off until your eyes roll into the back of your head and you simply glow with joy and all of your worry frowns disappear and you laugh that eye crinkle laugh that you do and all of you is inside my mouth and inside the deepest parts of me.” He wanted to say, “I think you look so handsome and refined with that sprinkling of white hair that is spreading through your beard, I swear you only seem to get better with age.” He wanted to say, “I love you.” He was silent.

God, Eddie hated this. Eddie knew what Lu looked like right at this very moment, all those many miles away in his bed in Parkland. He would have The Look splattered all over his face.

Eddie had seen it before. The Look. In those finals months that Lu wore a Canucks jersey. In those final months before Lu was traded to the Florida Panthers. In those final months when Lu played for a city that had betrayed him, painted him a villain, spat at him whenever he skated out onto the ice. Eddie had seen The Look then. Not in interviews. Lu was always calm, collected, respectful, soft-spoken in his interviews, even when there were Canucks fans in the background taunting him, jeering, glaring. But Eddie had seen The Look off cameras, in Lu’s old penthouse suite in Yaletown, when he and Lu had gone back for post-game beers and Lu had crumbled into himself on the living room sofa, his eyes wide and scared and lost and uncertain. Eyes that were red around the edges as Lu pouted his bottom lip, tensed his neck, and tried desperately to hold back tears. Doe eyes that had made Eddie’s young heart jump the way it never really should for a mentor. His mentor, who looked so vulnerable. It broke Eddie’s heart, it really did. In those moments, when Lu had The Look, Eddie wanted to pull him to his chest and run hands through those dark curls, kiss those pouting lips, rub fingers over all of Lu’s tight muscles, run fingers down Lu’s neck and back, down down down to the bottom of Lu’s shirt and then run fingers up under that shirt -

Of course, Eddie never could. Lu had been married then. It wasn’t until both Eddie and he were far, far away from Vancouver and, hence, far, far away from each other, that Lu had come home to find divorce paperwork on the kitchen table. When Lu had called Eddie to tell him about the paperwork, Eddie had almost blurted out those three words, “I love you,” but had rammed his fist in his mouth and hiccupped in the back of his throat instead.

“Anyway, Eddie --" Lu's voice broke through Eddie's thoughts, bringing him back to reality. "I’d better go, it’s getting late.”

“Lu…wait,” Eddie said, his heart speeding up at all the possibilities that such a statement opened up for him to say. He could say, “You’re the love of my life.” He could say, “You’re the first thing I think about in the morning and the last thing I think about before I go to sleep.” He could say…he could say…he could say…

What he _did_ say was, “I just -- I want you to know -- that you -- you’re my best friend.” 

He could hear Lu’s face light into a big smile at those words. One of those smiles that sparked happy wrinkles in the corners of the older man's eyes.

Eddie’s face lit into a smile too.

“Thanks kid,” Lu said. And then, much more quietly, “You’re my best friend too. And a lot more than that. A lot more than that.” Then Luongo hung up.

A lot more than that? Lu had said that Eddie was _a lot more than that_?!!!!! Suddenly Eddie was sitting up straight in his bed. _A lot more than that._ The words ricocheted in his head. His breathing grew shallow. He saw stars around his head and he felt utterly dizzy. He realized he was trembling.

He was supposed to fly back to Sweden for the summer in the morning, but that could wait. This was more important. He could make the drive to Parkland in about eleven hours. He brushed his teeth, combed his hair, sprayed some cologne around his neck, changed into a fresh t-shirt (light blue, to make his eyes pop) and a new pair of Adidas sweats (black and silky), and was in his car and on the road in ten minutes. He drove all night until he arrived in front of a big brick house overlooking a canal, a beautiful house bearing Luongo’s address on the front.

Eddie had a key to this house. Lu had given it to the Swede when he was traded to the Panthers. “In case you ever need anything, my door is always open. I know Vancouver can be a shitshow. There’s a reason it’s called a Goalie Graveyard. Don’t let the fans get to you though. You’ve got talent, kid, always remember that,” he had said when he handed Eddie the key.

Of course, Eddie hadn’t gotten to stay in Vancouver long enough to find out if the fanbase would turn on him like they had turned on his poor mentor. Eddie had pretty quickly after been traded to the Hurricanes. Eddie had never used the key before. Until now. He held his breath. He put the key in the doorknob. He turned it. The door creaked open.

The house was quiet, the white furniture warmly lit in the morning Florida sunlight. Lu must still be asleep. Eddie had never set foot in the house before, but he peered up the staircase into the sunlight and found a series of open doors — a bathroom, a workout room, a computer room — and then a closed door. That had to be the bedroom.

Eddie’s bones creaked, protesting the many hours sitting in a car, as he moved up the stairs. Slowly, carefully, he opened the door.

As Eddie had expected, Roberto was asleep, his breathing slow, his body heavy and sunk into the bed. His curls fell across his forehead and pillow in disarray, and it was perhaps the most endearing thing Eddie had ever witnessed. But Eddie would have to wake him up — today was a game day and Lu would not want to sleep in too late; he'd want to get to the rink early. So Eddie slipped underneath the warm crimson-satin covers next to Lu. Sat and admired the older goaltender. Planted a gentle kiss on the mole on his neck. On his chin, in the increasing white of his beard. Swept a stray curl from his forehead and kissed him there too.

Lu’s eyes blinked open, looked at Eddie, still heavily lidded from sleep. “Eddie?” And then the older goaltender seemed to wake up completely. He sat up slightly, his eyes wide, searching as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. "Eddie?" Lu's mouth broke into a smile.

“I’m gonna cheer for you so loud when you win the game tonight,” Eddie said in a breathless rush, his mouth also breaking into a smile as he leaned forward to kiss Roberto’s lips and whisper those three words, “I love you.”

_Lu started Game Two. That night, with Eddie cheering loudly from the stands, Lu led the Panthers to a 3-1 win._


End file.
